


Arishok Eve

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Act 2, M/M, PWP, silly!Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glass of wine before the big day.  Or, an excuse for Anders and Hawke to have sex on the carpet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arishok Eve

**Author's Note:**

> I envisioned [my own Hawke](https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0QJ0bXRNW63QFY7Gh-A8a9MTjNZETYmyPJy0liipFm0?feat=directlink). Feel free to imagine your own! This was a **NaNoWriMo fic** ; standard disclaimers for the fury of NaNo apply. XD;
> 
> Written November 2011.

Garrett offers Anders a goblet. “Tevinter vintage, a gift from Fenris’s cellar. Probably wanted to get rid of it, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.”

Anders smiles at his attempt at levity, but it’s a sad one. “You go to the Arishok tomorrow, yes? And Isabela, disappeared with the one thing that may stay his hand.”

Hawke raises a hand, forestalling such thoughts. “Aveline is going. No one is going to want to make a scene, and even if they did, Aveline will scare them all with her glare alone.”

“I worry, anyway,” Anders admits, taking a large gulp of his wine. “Bitter,” he muses, “but with a hint of deep grape that makes it all worthwhile.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Hawke teases. He sips his own glass, but watches Anders out of the corner of his eye. The other mage is fiddling with his goblet, looking from Hawke to the fire, to the carpet to his wine. “Anders, please. Don’t worry yourself over me just yet. I’ve been pissing people off for four years, and I’ve only moved up because of it!”

They haven’t been together very long, but Hawke prefers the unguarded, gentle Anders that surfaces when they’re alone — away from mages and templars and everything else. He has a feeling it’s healthier for Anders, too.

“You have a glib answer for everything,” Anders says, setting his empty goblet on the mantel. He takes a step forward, eyes intent.

“I don’t like it when you worry like this.” Hawke takes another gulp of his wine and sets his own glass atop the mantel — next to that damned statue. Damn its eyes — how has he never noticed its eyes before? “There’s nothing to be done for it, yet,” he goes on, spreading his hands in an empty offer, “so agonizing over it will only drive you mad.”

“ _Garrett_ ,” Anders implores, wanting him to stop talking. Hawke obeys, because no one calls him Garrett, anymore. No one ever really did. “Garrett, if it’s something you absolutely have to do, then I’m behind you. And you are certainly not going into that compound without me.”

“If Aveline will allow it,” Hawke agrees, looking into the fire. “She may not want our ragtag bunch of misfits parading about during official business.”

Anders comes to stand behind him, puts arms about him and says into his ear, “I am not letting you out of my sight.”

Hawke touches the strong arms encircling him. Anders is strong for a mage — though Garrett is no weakling, himself. “Does your watch begin tonight?”

One hand cups his cheek, urges him to turn his mouth to Anders’s. The healer’s stubble is a rough counterpoint to the tender kiss, and Hawke reaches up awkwardly to feel it. The kiss deepens; Anders’s hand slides down to wrap around Garrett’s neck. Hawke reaches around Anders’s back, gripping his coat, as the healer’s free hand ghosts down Hawke’s front to play with his buckle.

Garrett twists in Anders’s arms, turning to face him. They come together in a hungry embrace — Anders is panting, desperate; the years of celibacy with Justice have made him insatiable. Hawke can scarcely keep up with the ardent kiss, he’s grateful when Anders gives him a short reprieve, releasing his lips to their twin gasps.

“You have a choice,” Anders pants. His lips drop to Hawke’s neck, and Garrett lolls his head, accommodating.

“What choice is this?” Hawke muses, shuddering when the other man bites down.

“We can either go to the bedroom immediately,” Anders straightens, cupping Hawke’s cheeks, “or I lay you by the fire and have you right here.”

“Sex in the _study_?” Garrett quips. “How delightfully scandalous!”

Anders gives him a look. “You _do_ have a smartass remark for everything, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hawke manages even as Anders trips him up. He saw it coming a mile away, of course — he drinks with Isabela — but he allows it, dropping into Anders’s arms and effectively surrendering to the other mage.

Anders kisses him again — desire, or desire to shut him up; either works — and lowers him to the plush carpet. It’s quite comfortable, actually, and Hawke decides more study sex is in order in the future. Anders climbs atop him, settling along his body and pressing him firmly into the floor. He’s trapped, and yet has never felt so secure. He hopes Sandal, Bodahn, and Orana delay their return from the market for a while longer. How long have they been gone?

It doesn’t matter. Anders moves a knee between his legs and Hawke moans. It’s a soft, pitiful sound next to the other man’s breathless pants, and Anders chuckles against his lips. It’s a cue; Hawke pushes him away so he can begin fussing with Anders’s buckles. Anders rises to straddle Garrett, shrugging out of his coat and shirt. Hawke stares, openly appreciative. Anders is a magnificent specimen, solid and strong, a minimal amount of soft blond hairs coating his chest.

“Staring is impolite,” the healer scolds him.

“ _Not_ staring at you is impolite,” Hawke retorts with a smile.

Anders smiles back, makes short work of Garrett’s finery, then settles upon him once again. Through their breeches desire is evident, and as Anders moves his hips against Garrett’s, Garrett’s body follows suit, drawn to Anders like a lodestone. A clumsy start turns into a satisfying rhythm: their cocks rub together, Hawke rakes short nails down Anders’s back, and Anders kisses him deeper and deeper, pulling at his soul.

When Anders finally lets him breathe, Hawke gasps for air, craning his neck. Anders moves downward, pinching one nipple and suckling another, stubble scraping deliciously against his skin. Somehow he loses his pants. Normally the ease of which this is accomplished would be cause for concern, but right now he doesn’t even care. He helps kick them off, pushes up on his elbows and watches Anders stroke his thighs, urging them to spread.

“I love you,” Anders says, a keen moment of peace amidst the passion.

Garrett, heavy-lidded with pleasure, smiles at him. “And I love you … and this carpet.”

With a roll of his eyes, Anders leans forward and pushes him down. Before Garrett can laugh, or follow-up with another glib reply, Anders gets the last word by swallowing his cock.

“Mmmmmmaker,” Garrett sighs, tossing his head to and fro — he’s frustrated, but by what? That it feels too good? That he has no control over it? Anders knows what he’s doing; his lips are cool still, but his tongue is warm velvet. His teeth are gentle and his hands skilled. Garrett struggles to raise his head, watches Anders’s bob up and down — a rhythm that threatens to overwhelm him. The intensity is too much. Hawke drops back onto the carpet, fingers scratching at it, trying to find purchase. He tries not to push himself further into Anders’s mouth, but then the healer’s fingers drift lower and, cool with enchantment, tease him.

“A-Anders,” Hawke gasps as the first finger slides in without resistance. The spell he’s using is — _tingling_ — and soon Anders is no longer sucking his cock, but it’s all right because Anders’s magic fingers are inside him, moving with such skill and precision that Garrett finds himself pushing back as they thrust in.

“Yes, love,” Anders answers, fondling himself through his trousers. “You should see yourself, it’s gorgeous. Do you still have that phallic tuber Isabela gave you? We should explore this more … thoroughly.” That might have gotten a glib remark, had Anders not purposefully punctuated it with a little wiggle of his fingers. Instead, it gets a moan, and Anders chuckles. Then the fingers are gone. Hawke barely has time to recover his senses, listening to Anders shed his breeches, then the healer cups his cheek and kisses him again. Garrett can taste faint traces of himself.

“Will you turn around for me?” Anders whispers.

Hawke complies, groggy with pleasure, feeling Anders’s lips on his back and shoulders as he moves. He gets on his hands and knees. Anders takes hold of his hips and pushes in, gently and smoothly, filling him with sweet heat. Hawke moans. Anders groans, hungrily, and starts thrusting. He moves in and out of Garrett with growing ardor, panting and growling, pulling Hawke against him as he goes deeper. Garrett, for his part, drops his head and fists the carpet, arms quivering and hardness aching.

At fever pitch, Anders’s thrusts quicken, and the healer snakes an arm around to touch Hawke. After so much, it all boils over; with a sharp cry, Garrett comes — shaking and hot and _Anders_. He nearly collapses, but for Anders’s still fucking him — and —

Anders groans something unintelligible, stiffens, quivers. Hawke feels it: white-hot, moving into him. “Yessss.” He’s not sure which of them said it.

Together, they fall to the carpet. Cheek pressed against plush velvet, Hawke breathes — Anders draped upon him like a blanket. The other man is still inside of him.

“Mm. Wish we could stay like this,” he admits, pressing into Hawke.

The movement makes Garrett realize where they are. “Maker’s breath, the carpet!” How to explain, how to clean it, how to….

Anders actually laughs. “I gave you the choice,” he reminds Garrett, and kisses his cheek.


End file.
